


Scarce Heard Amid The Guns Below

by darkavenger



Category: Punisher (Comics)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-16
Updated: 2015-08-16
Packaged: 2018-04-14 23:01:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4583415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkavenger/pseuds/darkavenger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set during Dark Reign, Frank and Henry run into some trouble when they go to intercept an undercover arms deal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Scarce Heard Amid The Guns Below

 

 

When Henry kisses him, Frank's caught off guard. For a brief moment, he freezes, allowing Henry to kiss him. The kid kisses with the kind of frenetic intensity he gets when he`s doing something complicated on the computer, his fingers digging almost painfully into Frank's shoulders, mouth warm and tasting of whatever sugary energy drink he's been drinking. When Frank pushes him away, as gently as he can manage, he doesn't resist.  

"We can't do that," Frank tells him, and Henry accepts this without a word of argument, as if he was expecting to be rejected. Maybe he was. Frank's certainly never given Henry any reason to think his attention would be welcomed. Frank's never thought of Henry like that. Or, if he's being honest, he's never let himself think of Henry like that. It's not like Frank's never slept with people he works with. He still has needs, wants, even if he wishes he didn't, and while it used to feel like a betrayal of Maria's memory, sometimes he just needs the feel of a living body against him, some life among the death, and Maria has long been dust in the ground. Henry is alive, in ways Frank himself isn't, and for a moment Frank lets himself think what it'd be like if he'd kissed Henry back, what it'd be like to take the kid to bed. He squashes the slow burn of desire the thought lights inside him. _Too young,_ he tells himself, too young and already damaged enough without Frank making things worse. 

"It's fine," Henry says abruptly, taking a step away from Frank. It's hard to tell in the dim light of the safe house, a storage unit in a bad part of town that Frank bribes the security not to bother about, but Frank thinks his cheeks are flushed. He's embarrassed, probably feels humiliated. Frank should probably say something, explain that Henry's not much older than his children would be, if they were alive, that Henry is probably going to die, and Frank can't get attached - but these thoughts are unlikely to help, so he keeps them to himself, and says nothing. Henry moves to his chair,  a  wheeled office chair, and pushes himself to his desk, away from Frank, swiveling so his back is turned. "So do you want to hear what I have for you this week?" 

And that's that. 

Frank replies, and they settle back into their normal, slightly strained working relationship. And if Frank notices Henry watching out of the corner of his eye when Frank's working out, well, he doesn't mention it. There's no harm in looking. 

Things continue like this until the night Frank gets hurt. 

It's all going well up until it isn't. They're hitting one of Osborn's operations, some under the table arms deal with operatives from Latveria that Henry found out about through one of the various black market chat rooms he lurks in. It's a fairly standard sort of fire fight. Frank broke into the place the deal was going down undetected, thanks in part to Henry taking care of the security feeds. Then with the element of surprise and a machine gun, Frank wipes out half the room before they even have time to reach for their own weapon. At that point it's just a matter of picking off the remainders. He discards the machine gun, before it overheats, unholstering a handgun.  

"Any trouble?" he asks, taking a minute to duck behind cover and reload. 

"Nope," Henry's voice in his ear, "I'm listening in on the police frequencies but no one's even been dispatched yet. Osborn must be stalling as hard as he can, that fucker doesn't want people finding out who he's in bed with." 

"That just makes this easier," Frank says, gun reloaded and ready. 

His first shot catches a man full in the face,the next one lands between the shoulders of one attempting to flee. After that there's the silence that falls after the last enemy's dropped dead.  

"Looks like that's the last of them," Henry echoes his thoughts. "Great. Go find the shipment and get some pictures before Osborn's clean-up crew gets here. Even if the Bugle won't print it, I'm sure Ben Urich can do something with it." 

Frank grunts in acknowledgment, and takes a few step across the room, scattering spent shells with his boots as he goes. Despite the stillness and ringing silence, he can't escape the feeling that there's something wrong. Henry's not picked up anything on his cameras or the radio, but Frank's been alive long enough to trust his instincts over technology any day. The back of his neck is prickling, and he moves warily, taking the time to scan the room for any hidden problems. Nothing. He keeps his gun drawn, and his finger on the trigger, moving to check the bodies. 

He  catched  movement in his  peripheral  vision. Something dark, moving up above.  _ Damnit _ _, always check the roof_   \- he looks up in time to see something drop, raises the gun but too slow. Something huge and heavy hits him, knocking him to the ground. Winded, he lies, dazed. Henry's yelling in his ear, but he can't hear him over the blood roaring in his ears. The thing sitting on his chest is massive - he gets a glimpse of a mouth with too many teeth and a long slobbering tongue - Venom. He doesn't waste his breath swearing, just increases his struggling.  

" Ssstop sssquirming ," the symbiote grumbles, through a mouth not designed for human language. Tendrils of the  symbiote  drip, slick and black as oil, spreading over Frank like liquid but with alien intent, coalescing to form tendrils that wrap themselves tight around Frank's limbs. He's pinned. Now he swears. 

Venom chortles, jaw hanging wide, and a glob of saliva drops from his mouth to land on Frank's face. "Ss'right, you're fucked. You pissed off Normy real good. He  ssaid  I could eat you and then have the other bodies for dessert." 

"Feel free to try." Frank tries to inch his hand to the knife at his belt. He's not sure what good even carbon  steel is going to do, but his options are fairly limited. The tendril around his wrist constricts painfully, grinding the small bones together, and he grits his teeth, straining against its hold. 

"Too much muscle," the symbiote mutters mournfully; its tongue flicks out of the cavernous mouth and flits over his face, tasting. " Sstringy ... old... meat." 

Frank snorts through his nose, darkly amused. The monster's about to make a meal of him, and  its  the one complaining. 

"Frank, listen," a voice hisses urgently in his ear. Henry. Frank'd almost forgot about him, watching on his screen, miles away. "I have an idea to get the symbiote off you, but it's gonna hurt like hell." 

"More or less than getting eaten?" Frank asks drily. He tries one more time to reach for the knife, fingers twitching uselessly with the effort, then accepts defeat. "What do I need to do?" 

"Nothing," Henry says, "I can take care of it remotely - I just need you to be prepared to move once I do it." 

Frank distantly wonder what Henry considers a lot of pain. "Do it." 

The symbiote cocks its head, looking bemused. Frank's not sure whose body is hosting, but whoever it is clearly isn't all that bright. "You want me to eat you?" 

"Frank - " Henry's voice falters, " - I'm not sure this'll work, it's -" 

"Do it," Frank cuts Henry off ruthlessly. "Now. We don't have time." 

"Fuck -" Henry sounds on the edge of a panic attack, and Frank thinks this is it. Venom is still looking down at him, and while the face is too alien for human emotion, Frank thinks it looks puzzled. "Fine," Henry's voice crackles, shaky but firm. "Here goes." 

And then Henry's voice is gone and the world goes white with pain.  

The weight on his chest is gone.  

It takes him a moment to move, to reach up and pull the headset out of his ear. He can feel the vibrations through his fingers - the sonic noise Henry's transmitting through the tiny speakers. If his ears were ringing before, now they're blaring like alarm klaxons, so loud he can't hear anything over the noise. Distantly, he notice Venom in a corner. The human host is curled on its side, while the symbiote looks like it's trying to tear itself away.

It's almost enough to make you feel bad.

Frank chucks the still shrieking earpiece at the symbiote, and feels a shred of satisfaction at the violence with which it flinches, a liquid shudder rippling through it. He doesn't stick around to gloat, just turns and limps away. He feels like he`s been hit by a ton of bricks, but there's still work to do. There's still a mission to finish. He backs his way to the backroom, where Henry said the storage crates were likely to be, and finds it empty. 

There no time to wonder why - if this was a set up from the start, or if Osborn had had other operatives than Venom to sneak in and clean house - he has to leave now. 

He barges back into the front room, sparing a second to check that both symbiote and host are still incapacitated, then takes a side door that opens out into an alley, Steps out into binding flashlights and the  gunsights  of a dozen people in tactical assault gear and reflexively spins back inside, slamming the door closed behind him. He had a split second to process. No badges, so not cops. He shifts his weight a little, widening his stance. Good, that makes this easier.

Five minutes later, he limps out of the alley. He's alive and most of the blood isn't his. Most. His left leg is dark and wet with blood, and  its  making him drag it slightly as he walks. With each step he feels more blood run down his leg. He  grits  his teeth. All he wants is to get back to the  hide out , crawl into his cot and pass out for a few hours, but who knows how many more HAMMER units are out looking for him, and he's not leading them back to the house. 

He spares a moment to think how much easier this would be with Henry in his ear, feeding him enemy positions and exit routes, but then dismisses the thought. He's worked alone for years. There's no point getting used to the luxury of help. Henry will be gone soon, dead or just done, same as the rest of them. One way or another, they leave the fight.

It takes him over two hours to get home. The city is crawling with both HAMMER units and regular police. He had no doubt by now this is on the news, being sold as some arbitrary attack by a crazed vigilante. He keeps his head down, sticks to back alleys and sewers. At one point in  Hells  Kitchen he thinks he sees a flash of red  over head , but if it is the Devil then he offers Frank neither help nor hindrance. 

Finally he's stumbling down the alley that leads to the  hide out . The noise in his head has dulled to a roar, the wail of  sirens a distant sound that just breaks through. So he has no warning before a figure steps out of the shadows. His hand moves to the gun at his waist on reflex. He's weary to the bone, and feels like he's been hit by a ton of bricks,but he's not going down without a fight.

The figure takes another step forward, far enough into the streetlight that Frank  recognises  Henry. He lets his hand drop.

Henry looks as tired and worn as Frank, like he`s spent half the night running and fighting for his life too. And maybe in a way he has, been fighting for Frank's life at least. Frank knows Henry's had eyes on him since the moment he stepped out of that warehouse building and into that firefight. Has been watching him on satellite and  cctv  as he ran around town,  outmaneuvering  the police, HAMMER, and whatever else Osborn was throwing at him. 

For a moment, Henry just looks at him. It's too dark to read the expression on his face - relief or horror- and then he's at Frank's side, an arm around his waist and he`s half dragging Frank to the door. Frank lets himself lean on Henry. The kid's gangly but surprisingly strong and together they make it in. 

Frank drops heavily to the cot. Once he's sat his body begins protesting in earnest. All his muscles ache, and he can feel the sting and burn of  innumerous  small injuries. None of them are life threateningly serious, even the gash on his leg, and he's ready to just swing his legs up and go to sleep, filthy and fully clothed.

Henry is there though, with a first aid kit in hand. He says something. Frank can see his lips move but too fast for him to catch. _Can't hear you_ , he says, pointing to his ears in explanation.

Henry frowns, but nods like he was expecting to hear that. His jaw clenches and he looks angry, but Frank can tell  its  not directed at him. 

_ Sorry _ _._  

Frank shakes his head.  _Not your fault. Didn't know Venom was going to be there. Wasn't prepared._  

Henry shakes his own head and says something too fast for Frank to  lipread . Frank gets the general gist though, is good at  recognising  self recrimination. 

_ Kid _ _._ Frank cuts him off, clasps his shoulder.  _It wasn't your fault._  

Henry looks like he wants to argue, stubborn brat that he is, Frank employs some dirty tactics to shut him up and slides his hand to rest against the back of Henry's neck, against the bare skin, soft to his callused, the shorn back of Henry's hair prickling lightly against his palm. 

Frank can feel Henry tense up immediately at the touch, watches as his mouth slowly closes. Henry's eyes, which up until now had been focused on other things -the first aid kit, visible cuts and scrapes - anything but Frank's face - meet his own. Slowly, Frank feels him  untense . 

_ I thought I'd gotten you killed.  _

Frank shakes his head.

_ You could have died. _

_ Not today .  _

_ But you could. Tomorrow. Or the next day. Or ten missions from now. I give you the wrong info or - or I'm just not prepared - _

The kid's starting to freak again, lips moving too fast to follow, and Frank gently squeezes, trying to ground him.

Henry looks at him again, with a look his eyes that says that if Frank doesn't stop, doesn't de-escalate the weird intimacy that's growing between them then he's going to do something stupid, like try and kiss Frank again.  

Frank  lets  go abruptly, and the warm hunger in Henry's eyes turns bitter and cold. Frank speaks slowly, so there's no confusion. _ I could always die. With you, without you. There is always a possibility I will die. You just tip the odds more in my  favour . _

Henry takes a step back, mouth twisting bitterly. _ So you still need me, huh? _

_ I don't need you. But I can use you.  _

Henry gives a small nod, glancing down. A bitter smile still touches his lips.   _I bet you can_ _ .  _

After that, he doesn't say, just helps Frank clean and dress his wounds, touch as antiseptic as the dressing. Once he's done he gets up without a word, moving over to the cot on his side of the room. 

He's still awake when Frank passes him to piss, eyes open and glinting in the bathroom light. Frank goes back to his own bed and sleeps. He's got used to going to bed with a guilty conscience. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thinking about writing a continuation from Henry's PoV but who knows.


End file.
